


TAZ Amnesty Promptober (NSFW)

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: All chapters can be read as stand alones, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Western, Bandits & Outlaws, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Lonesome Moth, M/M, Movie Star AU, Old Hollywood - Freeform, Oral Sex, Promptober, Rough Sex, TAZ Amnesty, Trans Barclay, Trans Duck Newton, Trans Stern, Vampire Bites, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Sex, Werewolves, because why the hell not, cis stern for one of them, indruck, reverse!au - Freeform, sternclay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-13 18:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: A collection of fics for the 2019 Promptober, cross-posted from Tumblr since not everyone is on there.





	1. In the Grave (Indruck)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for the 12 was: Dig your own grave. 
> 
> This is set in the Lonesome Moth universe, between chapters 5 and 6, but can be read as a stand alone.

The sun descends with agonizing slowness across the desert sky as the steady _ca-chunk_ of a shovel hitting earth fills the air. 

Duck Newton, four feet down in said earth, pauses to wipe his brow. 

“Uh uh now, deputy, don’t you be slacking off. We don’t got all night.” A voice behind him scolds. 

“That’s right.” Says another. 

Duck doesn’t look behind him, and he sure as hell doesn’t respond even though he’s itching to tell them to dig it their own damn selves if they’re in such a hurry. But he’s not foolhardy enough to trade barbs with the kind of men who take pleasure in making a fellow dig his own grave.

He also doesn’t intend on ending up in said grave. Digging is giving him ample time to develop a plan.

When he pauses again he says, still without turning, “don’t suppose either of you are willin’ to give a dead man a drink.”

A _clink_ tells him they are. 

One of the bandits holds the canteen out and Duck takes it. He grabs the man’s arm as does so, yanking him down into the grave with him. The other runs forward to grab his compatriot, and Duck hits him as hard as he can with the shovel, knocking him backwards and out of sight. He turns just as the man in the grave gets his bearings and reaches for his pistol, the deputy catching him in the head with the edge of the metal.

There’s a click from above him and he realizes his error; he won’t be able to strike in time, and all his extra toughness won’t save him if he’s shot at point-blank range.

_Bang_

He jolts, then stumbles back as the second bandit comes tumbling into the grave, very much dead. 

Duck holds his breath, the soft crunch of dirt growing closer. 

“Hello, lawman.” Purrs a familiar voice. 

Staring down at him with a self-satisfied smirk is Indrid Cold, red dust on his black clothes and the last rays of the sun glinting off his glasses. 

“Cold.” Duck nods.

Still smiling, Indrid kneels down and holds out his hand. Duck takes it, lets the other man help him out of the grave. 

“I had that under control, y’know.” He mutters. 

“No doubt. All the same, I assumed my help would not be unwelcome. Just as I assume you will now try to apprehend me…” His smile falters as Duck steps closer. The deputy puts one hand on Indrids neck.

Then, with the other he grips him by his pale hair and pulls him into a kiss. 

“My, my, not even a pretense of trying to arrest me this time?” The outlaw teases, gently, when Duck finally lets him breath. 

“I’m tired, I’m irritated, and I damn near died. Ain’t in a mood to dance around what I know is gonna happen anyway.” He moves for another kiss but Indrid catches him by the chin.

“Duck, if you are only doing this because you feel it is the inevitable outcome, I shall turn on my heel and leave you in peace.”

Duck sighs, and when he looks into the red lenses he finds Indrids’ eyes patient and concerned behind them.

“That ain’t what I meant. Just don’t have the wherewithal to pretend I wanna do anythin other’n be with you.”

Indrid leans down to kiss him, stroking his cheek with cool fingers. 

“In that case, my sweet, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to my camp?”

It’s a short journey on horseback, Indrid having selected a spacious, hidden cave in an outcropping of rocks. 

“Bringing back memories?” Indrid asks as Duck looks around the hide-out.

“Least I ain’t tied-up this time.”

“Indeed.” Indrid steps behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist, “Unless you wish to be.”

“I ain’t seen you in near a month. You think I wanna spend any of that time not able to get my hands on you?” He spins in the embrace, gripping Indrids’ jacket and kissing a line up his neck. The outlaw cups the back of his head, humming as he presses a kiss to his temple. 

Then he pulls his head back slightly, tongue flicking out as though he’s a cat that’s tasted something unpleasant.

“You’re rather dusty, my sweet.”

“You’re one to talk” Duck thwacks his shoulders playfully, sending a cloud of particles into the air. 

“I may have a solution to our woes. Come.” He takes Ducks hand, leading him back out into the cooling air. Several yards from the end of the outcropping, they come to a stop in front of a pool. Duck reaches out his fingers, feels the heat coming from the water.

“Hot spring?”

“Indeed. It’s quite safe, if you’d care to join me.” He removes his jacket, starts on the buttons of his shirt as Duck tugs off his boots. For once he’s faster than Indrid at disrobing, slipping into the warm water with a sigh and finding a flat bit of rock to sit on as he watches the taller man remove his last shreds of his decency. Indrids’ gun-belt remains within reach of the pool, but Duck knows it poses no risk to him. 

Indrid joins him, sliding in and over so he’s nearly in Ducks lap. He fondly draws a finger along Ducks chest.

“Mmmm, exquisite.” He grins, “and the spring isn’t bad either.” 

Duck puffs out a laugh, then gulps in a breath and ducks his head beneath the water. Emerges, spluttering and cleaner.

Indrid pops up a moment after, shaking out his hair and keeping a firm grip on his glasses. That youthful, vulnerable smile is on his face and Duck’s heart may as well be a jar of fireflies for how much it glows at the sight. 

“You look as though you want something, my sweet.”

“That I do.” He loops his arm around Indrids shoulder, barks a laugh when the outlaw easily pulls him into his lap. Indrid’s hands are cool in spite of the water, and they trace chilly paths along Ducks sides and back as he leans in for a kiss. 

For a time he luxuriates in the simple pleasure of Indrids mouth on his own, the way he hums, the way his tongue gladly yields to Ducks when he slips it between his lips. In the short pauses where they breathe, Indrid keeps their faces close, brushes their noses together with those strange, soft sounds of his. 

Eventually, his lips start a path down Ducks neck.

“I missed you these last weeks.” He murmurs, licking a line on Ducks throat when he bares it, “I dreamt of you every night, a rare occurrence for me.”

“That so? Can’t say I dream all that much, but damn if you don’t turn up a whole lot when I’m awake.” He tangles one hand in pale hair, braces the other on the edge of the pool as the kisses turn to bites. 

“Mmmm, such flattery to know my handsome, strong lawman spends his days thinking of me.”

“Don’t think I ain’t wise to what you’re doin.” Duck grins as one of Indrids’ hands disappears beneath the water.

“And what is that?”

“Sweet talkin me so that I’ll get ha-ohhhh, lord almighty.” Deft fingers grasp his cock, pressing it to Indrids own. 

“Why Duck Newton, I would never tell you that you are the finest man to ever ride the west, or that they very thought of you sets my soul alight, just because I know it drives you wild.” He’s stroking them both slowly, grin widening each time Duck moans. 

“Indrid” Duck moves his hand down to assist but Indrid catches it, places it back on his shoulder.

“Allow me, sweetheart. You’ve had such a trying day, and a man as handsome and hardworking as yourself-”

“Darlin please, you keep talkin’ like that I’m a goner.”

“-deserves to, oh goodness, to lay back and take his pleasure. Much as I OH” he cries out when Duck bites down on his shoulder, “I deserve to watch that perfect face as you come apart in my hand.”

“Fuck, Indrid_fuck_.” He comes with a jolt, Indrid working him through it before coming with a high moan himself. 

As his body shudders in relief and enjoyment, he rests his forehead against the damp of Indrids’ own. Strange as it seems, these are the moments he holds dearest, these pauses between the pursuit, when they ask nor desire nothing from one another other than to hold and be held, hearts beating as one. The moments when he is not a man of the law and Indrid is not a man running from it, when their sole role in the world is lovers. 

Eventually the moment must break, and they climb from the springs and pick their way carefully back to camp. As they dry and settle onto overlapping bedrolls, Duck makes Indrid promise that he’ll at least kiss him goodbye before slipping away in the morning. Indrid says he will. Soon there is nothing left to do but fall asleep, wrapped in each others arms. 

Hearts beating as one.


	2. Moonlit Walk (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 19th was: “If you thought you were safe, you thought wrong.”

“If you thought you were safe, you thought wrong.”

Stern turns to look at the man behind him. His date is smiling, all teeth.

Sharp teeth. 

“Remember I said how handsome you look in the moonlight?” The man is shifting, changing, and Stern gazes up at the full moon. 

“Shit. Alright, don’t panic, I’m sure there’s a way we can get you somewhere where you can’t hurt anyone or yourself.” 

“Aw, it’s cute that you think this is a warning so you can try to save yourself. Hate to break it to you, Joseph, but we didn’t come all the way out here to get cozy. But I meant what I said; You really do look like a snack.” It’s coming out as more of a growl now, and the smile is staying put.

“You can’t, can’t be serious.” He’s already trying to picture his escape route.

“Dead serious. But” he drags his claws down a tree-trunk, nonchalantly, “I’ll give you a sixty second head start. It’ll be more fun that way. One-”

Stern is running before the syllable leaves his mouth. Even as it pounds in his ears, his heart sinks as he notices he’s completely lost.

Not nearly far enough behind him, there’s a howl. 

This was not how this night was supposed to go.

He’s been in the sleepy California town of Kepler, researching his newest book of cryptid sightings, for two months. Dating pools are already small in towns like Kepler, even more so when you’re gay. So imagine his pleasure when another visitor approached him a few days ago and asked if he’d like to go on a date. He was charming, and handsome, and Stern was curious and a little bit horny and figured the worst that would happen was some disappointing sex. 

They’d had dinner in the lodge where Stern was (is) staying, and he’s had a perfectly decent time. His date wasn’t an amazing conversationalist, but he was pleasant enough, and seemed very into Stern. 

The only odd moment had come when, while his date was in the bathroom, the bartender (and cook) came over to personally drop off his drink. 

“You doing okay?”

“Yes, why?”

“That guy’s not giving you any trouble?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Huh. Well, uh, lemme know if that changes, okay?”

Now, as he ducks and weaves through the woods, Stern replays that conversation. Wishes he’s paid more attention to what, in retrospect, may have been a warning. Wishes he’d paid attention to their path in the forest, rather than to the many complimentary things his date had said to him. 

How does that poem go?

_And now, dear little children, who may this story read,_

_To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed;_

_Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye,_

_And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the-_

“Fuck” he hisses as he comes to a stop at the edge of a sheer rock face. Cracking branches and panting growls are terrifyingly close. Weighing his options, he grabs the largest stick he can swing; if flight won’t save him, maybe fight will. 

“Ooh, bad luck. Guess you’re not as sharp as I thought.” His date lurches through the trees towards him. 

“I’m not helpless either. Leave me alone.” 

“Oh yeah, this is gonna be _fun_” the monster crouches, ready to spring, when a cacophony of snapping branches comes from Sterns left. 

“You heard him. Beat it.” Rumbles a voice.

The werewolf must be able to see better in the dark than Stern, because he scoffs “who’s gonna make me, Squatch-boy?”

It’s only when the newcomer steps into the light that Stern sees him too. 

Yeah, that’s definitely a Bigfoot. 

“Look, man, you’re already in pretty serious trouble. Don’t make me kick your ass on top of it.” 

The werewolf snarls and launches himself at the cryptid, who dives to the side and comes up with what appears to be half a dead tree. He swings, sending the lycanthrope flying. 

Unfortunately, he flies Sterns way and lands too close for comfort. 

“I’m gonna tear you apart youOW!” 

Stern hits him with the stick again for good measure, giving Bigfoot time to cross the distance between them and haul the creature into an extremely violent bear-hug. When he throws the wolf to the ground this time, he stays down for a twenty count before stumbling up and limping towards the treeline. 

“Fine, asshole, you eat him! Fuck, that hurt.” It glares at them once before skulking off into the darkness. 

At the implication that Bigfoot sees him as prey, Sterns panic gives an encore. He knows of no accounts suggesting that Bigfoot or cryptids of his kind eat people. But until tonight, Stern didn’t know of any credible accounts of the existence of werewolves, either. 

Bigfoot turns to look at him and he raises his stick.

The cryptid holds up his hands, “Whoa, hey, I’m not gonna eat you. That guy’s just being a dick.”

“You’ll forgive me for not being inclined to believe you right now.”

“I swear, I’m mostly harmless.” He kneels, then sits down on the forest floor. 

“You are almost two feet taller than me, you have fangs, and you just _beat up a werewolf_.”

“…..Yeah okay I see your point. Uh” he pats around his body, looking for something, “here, maybe this’ll help.” He slips a woven bracelet on his wrist, and then there’s no more Bigfoot. 

Just a bartender. 

“Barclay?” 

The other man waves sheepishly, “Hey. Uh, this making you feel better?”

“It’s mainly increasing my confusion.”

Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “There’s more than I can really explain right now, especially without checking with some other people first. The main thing is what you already saw; there’s monsters running around, and they can look like humans.”

“There’s more than just the two of you?”

“Lots more. Most of us are really chill. I haven’t seen that guy before, so I think he might have either just come through from our home or be passing through from another town. Either way, he’s the only werewolf I’ve ever seen who’d pull a stunt like this.”

“There are other werewolves?” Stern cautiously lays the stick down. 

“Most of them are having a chess club meeting tonight.” Barclay shrugs. 

Stern slowly settles onto the ground, heart rate returning to normal, “That’s why you asked me about him, isn’t it?’

“I wasn’t sure if he was what I thought, because I hadn’t seen him before. I just got a kinda predatory vibe off of him. When I saw you two heading out here I got suspicious and followed you. After letting Mama know my hunch.”

Stern nods, beginning to understand. Mama runs the lodge, and if anyone in town looks prepared to handle a monster, it’s her. 

“Do you wanna continue this conversation back at the lodge?”

“Yes, please.” Stern ought to stand up, but the idea of doing so sounds exhausting. Barclay gets up, walks the several feet between them and holds out his hand. Stern takes it, gratefully.

“Is the lodge close? I’m so goddamn turned around, I feel like such a fool for not even paying enough attention to know where I am in relation town.”

“He turned you around on purpose.”

“By stroking my ego with nice words, and I fell for it.” Stern mutters.

“Try not to beat yourself up, okay?” Barclay rests his free hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ll do my best.”

They start back through the trees, Barclay keeping a protective arm around the shorter man. 

“You’re taking me being Bigfoot pretty well.”

“Honestly, I just processed so much unexpected information in such a short time that I’m still sorting through all my feelings.”

“…Are you trying to decide whether to ask me for help with you research?”

Stern looks over at him, finds a wry, sweet smile heading his direction. 

“Perhaps.”

“Gotta buy me a drink first.”

“Barclay, you are the one serving them. You can have one for free whenever you want.”

“Not from a cute guy I can’t.”

Sterns’ cheeks heat up at the same time his stomach twists, compliments in the dark woods now linked to danger in his brain. Barclay notices the reaction, clears his throat. 

“Did you get a chance to finish that book I gave you?”

“It was spectacular, I stayed up all night a few days ago to read it. I meant to give it back, but I’ve been swamped with research just like you’ve been swamped with customers.”

“Really has been hectic the last few days. Think we got written up somewhere again.”

“Does that happen often?” Stern picks his way over a fallen log, Barclay offering a hand to steady him.

“Every now and then _Sunset_ or somesuch writes about Kepler as a nice weekend vacation spot. Lodge gets mentioned every time, usually as a place to eat.”

“As it should. You’re an amazing chef, Barclay.”

It’s a pity the moonlight washes the world out; he’s fairly certain Barclay is blushing.

When the lodge comes into view, a figure wearing a wide-brimmed hat approaches them, coalescing into the shape of Duck Newton, local ranger. 

“Mama wanted me to let you both know that she’s taken care of the issue.” 

Barclay groans, “she didn’t kill him, did she?”

“Nope, just put the fear of god into him and chased him across the border into the next county in her pick-up. Accordin to ‘Drid, no futures of him comin back.”

“That’s…good?” Stern isn’t quite sure how Duck’s tall, gangly husband can be so certain. 

“Whelp, I better be headin' home. Evenin' you two, glad you didn’t get eaten.” He tips his hat and heads off towards the parking lot. 

Stern rubs his arms, nerves still refusing to quiet entirely. 

“Kitchen’s closed, but I got a little kitchenette in my room, could make you some tea. Uh, if you want.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Soon he’s seated on Barclays green, plaid bed-spread as the larger man putters around the small stove. Barclay keeps up a quiet, consistent chatter, seeming to understand that Stern is craving the reassurance of a friendly, familiar voice. 

“…Anyway, it turns out it’s even harder than you’d think to get caramel syrup out of your beard.”

Stern laughs at the image, reaches for the mug Barclay offers him. The trouble is, he can’t make his hands grab it. It nearly drops on the floor, but Barclay cups his hands around Sterns to keep them steady,

“Everything okay?”

“I, it’s like my limbs are numb but full of little, buzzing bugs all at once and I can’t make them grip anything. It’s an adrenaline reaction I get some time.”

“Is there a way I can help?” The question is gentle, earnest, Barclay staring down at him with those deep brown eyes. Stern glances down, trying to ignore the lewd thoughts flooding his head at Barclays offer. Instead he counts the various scars on Barclays hands, wonders which are remnants of kitchen incidents and which are reminders of monster battles. 

In spite of this distraction, his mind offers up thoughts. Thoughts of how Barclay brings him his coffee with just the right amount of cream and sugar already added, while all the other guests have to add theirs at the table. How more than a few nights, he’s kept Stern company while he pours over notes and researches leads, busying himself with looking over recipes or cleaning the bar. 

Thoughts of how more than once, Barclay’s given Stern a shy once-over, a thing he’d previously never thought possible. How the few times the bartender complimented him, Stern glowed for hours afterwards. 

He looks back up, finds the other man waiting on his answer.

It doesn’t take much, merely a soft tug on Barclays hands, to bring him close enough for a kiss. He gets surprised, short moan in response, pulls back to smile at him. 

“I don’t know about you, Barclay, but I can think of some far more enjoyable ways to burn off adrenaline than sipping tea.”

“Got that right. And I’m happy to do them, as long as you promise me you’re not doing this because you think it’s something you owe me.”

“I’m not.” 

Barclay takes the mug from Sterns hands, sets it down on the bedside table calmly. 

Then he makes a surprisingly graceful hop-flop onto the bed, and pulls Stern on top of him. The fire in Sterns system is instantaneous, and he frantically kisses Barclay while tugging at his shirt and grinding against him. When the shirt proves too difficult, he goes for Barclays belt, but the other man grabs both his hands with one of his own, grips his hip to keep him still with little effort (good lord he is _strong_).

“Much as I appreciate the thought, babe, I wanna make it all about getting you off right now. You’ve had a hard night. Will you let me make you feel good?”

Stern cups his face and kisses him hard and happy, nodding as best he can.

“Lay back and get comfy.”

Stern tears his shirt off like it’s on fire, gives his slacks the same treatment. Barclay chuckles, undoes his flannel and drops it on the floor. Then he kneels down, grabs Sterns ankles and slides him down to the edge of the bed, eases his underwear off once he’s there. Then hooks Sterns legs over his shoulders, nuzzles his inner thighs with a low, rumbling purr.

“Want me to suck your dick?”

“Oh lord yes, please, yesYESohhhhh.” His heels dig into Barclays back at the first firm swipe of his tongue. Barclay huffs out warm, laughing breath against him before continuing to circle and swirl along his folds, Stern whimpering whenever his tongue teases at his dick. The room steadily fills with his moans, the odd laugh when Barclays beard tickles his skin, and the other mans panting, pleased purr. 

Barclay pulls back just a little, kissing Sterns’ hips and thighs as he groans, “fuck, love doing this to you, love hearing you moan baby, god, wanna make you feel so good.”

“You’re doing, ah, so well, oh lord Barclay please don’t stop.”

“Not planning to.” Is all he hears before Barclay dives back down, moaning around his cock like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The noise rumbling out of him is no longer a purr, it’s a growl, Barclays ministrations becoming messier, more animalistic, with every second. Stern is matching his enthusiasm , no longer content to lay back and be lavished with pleasure. Instead he chases it, grinding against Barclays face, which only serves to make the man on the floor growl louder. 

“That’s so good, you’re so good, ohlordfuck” he grips that endearingly shaggy hair, “right there, please right thererighttherreright_there_OHhhhh.” His eyes shut as his orgasm floods him, and a comforting pressure registers on his thigh as Barclay rests his chin against it to watch him come. 

“Better?”

“Yes. Would, would you like to uh, not be on the floor.” He gestures weakly at the bed, hoping Barclay gets the gist.

He does, climbing onto the mattress and rolling Stern into his arms. 

“Give me a moment and I can re-” he yawns, the long-awaited crash finally hitting him, “-ciprocate.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay babe?”

“But you’re clearly turned on. I’m fairly certain I felt you trying to hump the side of the bed while you were down there.”

“I mean yeah, because you’re real fucking hot and I like doing that. But you’re already going limp and sleepy on me.” He lifts Sterns hand, which thwaps back onto the bed because he doesn’t have the energy to even think about keeping it up.

“Suppose you’re right. And you’re very comfortable.” 

“If you want, tomorrow you can nap on me while I’m Bigfoot.”

“I’d” another yawn “like that.” Then a rather ridiculous thought occurs to him and he begins laughing “I never need to work a day in my life again. I’m just going to sell my story to the National Enquirer for a million dollars.”

Barclay belly-laughs, cuddling Stern closer, “Go to sleep, you goofball.”

“Won’t be calling me that when my feature, ‘Bigfoot is real and he sucked my dick’ goes viral.”

“You can only write that if I get a cut.”

Stern blinks sleepily up at him, kisses the goofy smile spreading across his face, “deal.”


	3. Grave Danger (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for the 26th was: Graveyard Shift.
> 
> This is set in what’s basically a reverse!AU.

Barclay shouldn’t be out here. 

Not in the “he’s going to get in trouble if he’s caught” way. In the “if the world was fair, he wouldn’t be doing a graveyard shift in a literal graveyard” way.

But the network demands more episodes of “_Chasing Bigfoot_” and unless he wants to be fired and broke, he must deliver them. It’s not that he completely hates his job; the money pays the rent, paid for top surgery, half-paid for phallo, and sometimes nets him fans who are actually interested in the science of investigating the unknown rather than night-vision camera footage of blurry objects. But much of the fanbase loves that second category.

That’s why he’s here in Kepler, WV, investigating a viral Bigfoot sighting (Barclay is 95% sure that the video is someone in a Chewbacca costume). That’s why he’s staying at the Amnesty Lodge, still slightly visible down the hill and through the trees. 

The Lodge is actually the best part of this whole trip. The residents were wary of him at first, but they’ve been warming up to him.

And there’s one in particular that he’d love to warm up. Joseph Stern, blue eyed and dark haired, fastidious and charming. Barclay’s done his best to flirt with the other man, but so far has gotten only to the point of a casual friendship.

He sighs, adjusts the settings on his camera. It’s a tiny, handheld one, as the ratings suggest that audiences love grainy, shaky footage of him being out in the woods at night. Or a graveyard. Specifically, a graveyard where earlier in the day he’d spotted some footprints that were really, really weird. He loves cryptozoology, even if he knows much of it is faked, and he’d love to be the one to finally find proof of previously unknown species. 

Bushes rustle further up the hill, and he hops the run-down stone wall at the edge of the cemetary to investigate. It’s probably just a deer, but it might make for some decent B-Roll.

He ducks under branches, looking through the viewfinder as he enters a small clearing.

A huge shape, covered in black fur, is surveying the ground. It raises its head up, then stands on its hind legs.

A werewolf. An honest to fucking god werewolf. 

This is amazing. This is going to make his whole career. He can make millions, he can retire from this shitty show, can open his own restaurant, just as soon as he sells this footage of, of….

Of a werewolf looking directly at him, eyes glinting in the moonlight. 

It growls and, without thinking, he runs. The creature howls once, then gives chase. 

He doesn’t even make it ten yards. Strong claws connect with his back and knock him to the ground. Ripping fabric and short, aggravated growls fill the air as the monster paws at him, rolling him this way and that. He curls in on himself, protecting the camera and his vital organs.

“Where is it?” The wolf snarls in his ear. 

“Wh-where is what?”

“The camera.”

“I, it’s.” Another growl, a clawed hand tightening on the back of his neck and he realizes that even if he hands the camera over, he’s a dead man if he doesn’t get away from this thing first.

“I don’t have a camera, so fuck off.” He kicks his foot back, catching the wolf in the ribs, and starts crawling away. It yelps, grabs his ankle and drags him back. He throws an elbow, gets his wrists pinned beneath one massive paw for his trouble. 

“Give. Me. the. Camera.”

With mounting terror, he understands that a fight would be pointless.

“Inside pocket of my jacket. Please” the werewolf flips him over, rifles under his coat, “please, just take it and let me go. I, I really don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die as some z-list reality star, I haven’t even gotten to ask the cute guy at the lodge out yet.”

The werewolf, camera in hand, blinks at him, “cute guy?”

“Uh huh, uh, he’s, he’s sorta the manager of the place, he listens to me when I talk about foodie stuff and my dream restaurant, and he’s really funny and I, I really like him, and I wanna ask him out, which I can’t do if you eat me, and uh-”

“If you wanted to ask him, why haven’t you?” The werewolf crosses it’s arms, sitting back on its heels. The disapproving look on its face has him stammering to explain himself. 

“Be-cause I, um, I’m not totally sure how he feels about me. Sometimes he’s really friendly and flirty, then he gets kinda stand-offish. I just don’t want him to feel uncomfortable around me. But if you don’t kill me, I swear I’ll ask him to dinner, first thing tomorrow.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The wolf leans closer, grinning.

“Fuck.” Barclay squeaks out, shutting his eyes because he really doesn’t want to see his organs leave his body.

The clawed hand cups his chin. 

“Look at me, Barclay.” The command is quiet.

He does, peeking out from his lashes to see the wolf gazing at him with clever, blue eyes. 

“Stern?”

The wolf nods, but doesn’t let go of his chin. 

“Are you gonna kill me?”

Stern lets go and sighs, prolonged and put-upon, “No, I’m not. I just needed to get this” he holds up the camera, “and there’s really no way to chase someone in this form that doesn’t make them think I want to eat them. But I couldn’t risk you getting away and someone seeing that footage. I never wanted to hurt you, or even frighten you.”

“But aren’t werewolves supposed to be, like, mindless killers when they transform?”

That disapproving look is back, “In pop culture, yes. In reality, no. And we don’t need the moon to transform either. We just look like this.” He gazes at Barclay, fangs showing in a smile, “Now, do you have something you want to ask me?”

Barclays brain stalls out and Sterns shoulders fall, his ears flatten, and he stares at the forest floor.

“It’s alright if you’re not interested in me after learning what I am. I understand.” He says softly. Barclay recognizes the way his face struggles to stay neutral; he’s seen it happen a few times when the other man got bad news. It’s odd, seeing Sterns mannerisms mapped onto such an intimidating form. 

Odd, but endearing.

Barclay reaches out, touches his fingers to Sterns left arm.

“Hey.”

Stern looks at him, ears perking up.

“You wanna grab dinner with me tomorrow?”

“Yes.” He takes Barclays hand in both of his, fur lush and radiating warmth, “I kept hoping you’d ask, even if I knew it was better that you didn’t get too close to me.”

“Because of the whole werewolf thing?”

“In a way. Me being like this is part of something…much bigger. And Mama and I, we have to be careful about what people find out about Kepler and the lodge. It’s our job to keep them safe. Having someone whose whole job is finding monsters learn the truth is an immense risk. So even though I was, er, _am_ attracted to you, I knew it was best to steer clear. Unfortunately, my heart didn’t get the memo.”

“Aw, babe.” Barclay draws his other hand down Sterns cheek. 

“I do wish we’d been able to clear the air some other way.”

“You wish? I’m the one who thought I was gonna be torn apart.” Barclay teases.

“I’m sorry. If I had my enchantment on, I’d offer an apology kiss.” Then he grins, leans forward, and nuzzles the crook of Barclays neck. Barclay snickers, then full-on laughs when his tongue darts out.

“What’s so funny?” He does it again.

“It kinda tickles, and it, uh, it feels nice AHhey.” He laughs harder as Stern continues snuffling and licking at him, one arm looping around his waist.

“I do sincerely apologize for such poor customer service.” 

“Gonna ah!, ha, leave you a bad yelp review.” He does his best to wrap his arms around Sterns shoulders.

“Oh no, the horror.” Stern deadpans, nuzzling his cheek. Barclay absentmindedly scratches the thick, dark fur on the back of his neck. Stern is sleeker than most depictions of werewolves he’s seen, and that combined with his coloration makes him striking to behold.

“You never had a bunch of people mad at you online have you-what’s that noise?”

“Ah, well, um.”

“Is your tail-?”

“Please don’t say wagging. It’s just a physical expression of the fact that I feel good.”

“That so?” Barclay scritches the same spot and the soft thumping increases, so he skates his nails over Sterns shoulders and down his chest. He presses them down firmer on the next pass. 

Stern growls; a guttural, terrifying noise.

But in place of terror, something hot and dark Barclay’s his system and he freezes.

Stern pulls back, “I’m so sorry, that noise can be really unnerving, it’s mostly a reflex.”

“Unnerving. Right.” 

Sterns eyes go wide, and his nose is once again against Barclays throat. He sniffs, hot breath raising goosebumps on his skin.

“Barclay, would you like to know something else about this form?” He murmurs. 

“Sure.” 

“My sense of smell is extremely good. And I can pick up on things like fear. And….” one claw trails gently on Barclays stomach, “arousal. I sense that second feeling coming off you. Am I picking up the right thing?”

“Uh huh. I gotta be honest babe, this is the horniest and the most confused I’ve been in awhile.”

“I’m a bit surprised myself.” He’s rubbing his hands along Barclays arms, comfortingly, “And if you’re not interested, or need more time to adjust, say the word and I’ll back off.”

“And if I want you to, uh, keep going?”

Another growl and he’s flat on his back, Stern looming over him, teeth bared. He tries to move, finds he can’t as strong, clawed fingers dig into his shoulders. 

“Fucking-A, that’s hot.”

Sterns’ laugh is deeper than normal, but it’s still bright and happy when he stares adoringly down at Barclay. 

“Do you like being my prey?”

“Now that I know you’re not actually gonna eat me? Yes.”

“Mmmmmm” Stern traces a clawtip along Barclays lips, then down his throat, which he bears as he arches his back, “Glad to hear it, even if it means I owe Duck ten dollars.”

“What? Oh_fuck_.” Stern drags his tongue along Barclays collarbone as he rather daintily undoes his shirt.

“We were all relaxing one night and there was some, um, speculation as to how various people we know are in bed. I maintained that you might like being the dominant one, since you’re so gentle normally and could enjoy the chance to cut loose. Duck insisted you “look like you wanted me to bend you over and make you cry.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Duck can be rather blue.” Stern zig-zags the very tip of a claw down his chest

“Is he, shit, also fucking psychic?”

“No, though he can see the future and, wait, oh, oh of course” he shakes his head, “he looked at the future to see what you’d be into.”

Barclay’s about to ask why Stern makes bets with someone who can see the future when Stern growls again, dropping down and rolling his hips against him. Paws his legs lovingly, licks and nips at his chest.

“That, oh fuck, that feels so good babe, just don’t go turning me into a werewolf.”

“That’s not how it actually works.” Stern huffs. 

“Uh huh, sure. Maybe I’ll just-” He sinks his teeth into Sterns upper arm. There’s a snarl, and Barclay is flipped onto his stomach. He moans, tucking his knees underneath him.

“Look at you, putting your ass in the air for me like a good boy.”

“Joseph” He whispers. 

“I’m right here, don’t worry. I’m going to make such good use of you, I’ll make you feel so good.” The barest hint of teeth brush his neck, Stern surrounding him on all sides, warm and heavy. He feels safer than he has in years.

“Undo your jeans.” He’s gripping Barclays hips.

Barclay obeys, and they’re quickly yanked down to his knees, taking his boxers with them.

“Now” something slick and solid teases at his ass, “in case it isn’t obvious, there is no way this is fitting without some serious preparation. So, you won’t be getting it that way tonight.”

Barclay whines. Claws clamp down on his neck, “That is not negotiable, no matter how badly we both want it. Spread your legs.”

Barclay does his best, is rewarded by Stern stroking his hair, growling softly, “good boy.”

A cock, thick and already sticky with pre-cum, slides between his thighs.

“Close them.”

He does, and this time a strong arm slips beneath him. When Sterns hand circles his cock, he whimpers, pushing back instinctively. Stern gives a sharp growl.

“That’s it. Oh lord it’s wonderful, having you underneath me like this. Maybe we should just stay like this. I could hold you this way all night.”

“Joseph, baby, please, I’ll do anything, just move.”

The grip on his cock tightens. 

“You’re not the one giving the orders, Barclay. Remember that.” Stern nuzzles his ear, voice dripping with menace. 

“S-sorry, fuckfuck” he pulls up fistfulls of dirt as Stern pounds against him, the movement of his thrusts forcing Barclay to fuck into his fist over and over again. He gasps when finds Sterns cock is long enough to brush his own as he fucks his thighs. 

“See, I was right not to try to shove that into this” he paws Barclays ass.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” Barclay chants in time with the movement of Sterns hips. 

“Say it” 

“You, you were right, you’re always right, I’ll listen to you for the rest of my life because of how right you are, shit, _shit_.”

“That’s right, you will. Because you like having someone who could tear you to shreds do this instead.” 

The pressure on Barclays cock is the best kind of too-tight, Stern thumbing at the tip relentlessly. It’s efficient, calculated, so very _Stern_.

“Oh _yeah_, fuck that feels good, babe, gahfuck, where did you learn to give such an amazing handjo-ohhhhshit.” He thumps his fist on the ground as he comes, trying and failing to bury the whimper he makes as Stern refuses to stop fucking him.

The hand that moments ago was jacking him off settles by his head as Stern hunches further forward, chin resting on Barclays shoulder as the jerks his hips. The precision is waning, the thrusts between his thighs growing ragged and stuttery. 

Stern pants in his ear, “You’re taking me so well, your thighs feel delicious, nnh, I cannot wait to fuck your ass, I cannot wait to make you scream.” His voice is stuck in a deep growl and he mouths at Barclays skin hungrily. 

“Whatever you want, babe.” Barclay says dreamily, resting his hand atop Sterns own, leaves crunching as he does. 

“That’s right, whatever I want, because you are mine, all mine, and I cannot believe it, ohlord, yes_yes_.” He thrusts as far as he can, the thick, flared base of his cock pushing through Barclays legs for the first time. Come spurts on Barclays belly, drips down his thighs, as Stern holds him close, growls giving way to higher, sweeter sounds. 

They collapse onto their sides, still tangled together. Barclay manages to turn, bring them face to face. Stern is grinning at him, claws coming up to carefully brush his hair from his face, and there’s the tell-tale_thwup-thwup_ of his tail on the ground. 

“Well, that was a first.” 

“Never fucked a human before?”

“No, not that part. You, ah, you called” his voice goes shy, “you called me babe. Not really a pet name I’d ever thought someone would use on me when I looked like this.”

“Does it bug you?”

“Not at all.” He brings Barclays right palm up to his face and nuzzles it, then catches sight of his appearance, “oh dear, we should get back to the lodge so you can clean up before that…hardens.”

They pick their way back through the trees, unseen, and slip through the back door. When they reach Sterns room, Barclay strips off his dirty clothes and Stern picks up a small necklace. As soon as he puts it on, it’s now a purely human face that smiles at the other man. 

“I don’t usually forget it when I go out on a scouting mission. It just slipped my mind this time. Careless, really.”

“Dunno, think it worked out pretty well. Oh, here” Barclay takes the camera, pops out the chip and hands it to Stern, “that’s all the footage of you I got. Plus, like, some B-roll that I can retake tomorrow.”

Stern takes it, kisses his cheek, which turns into a tender, promising kiss on the lips. Reluctantly, Barclay breaks away to go shower. When he returns, Stern is in a set of matching, _X-Files_ patterned pajamas, reading. He flips open the covers and Barclay crawls beneath them, the silk of the pajamas wonderfully cool against his bare skin as Stern nestles in his arms. 

“I must say, it is nice to find someone who’s bigger than me in at least one form. It makes for excellent cuddling.”

“Glad to be of service.” Barclay rests his cheek on Sterns forehead, “you still wanna go out tomorrow night?”

“Of course. Though I request that any fucking take place in my nice comfy bed. I keep finding leaves stuck in odd places.”

“You got a deal.”

“And, if you like and Mama is comfortable with you learning more about the lodge, I think I may know where you could find work as chef. Since it’s apparent to anyone who talks to you for more than five minutes that’s your true calling.”

“That’d be amazing.”

A final, sweet kiss. 

“Goodnight, Barclay.”

“Goodnight. Babe.”


	4. A New Era of Gods and Monsters (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 21st was: Monster Movie. Behold my old hollywood AU, featuring a title from the Bride of Frankenstein and a universe in which Transphobia doesn’t exist by the Hayes Code does

_February 20th, 1935._

_Tinsel Town is abuzz with news that promising young director Joseph Stern is starting work on a new horror picture. The latest announcements from Kepler Studios state that it will rival the director's previous smash monster chiller “Nightmare Woods.” No news as of yet as to who will star, and who may be donning greasepaint and false fangs to play the creature. Only time will tell, but we look forward to whatever terrifying delights he has in store. Assuming, of course, that he does not run afoul of the censors._

“Homoeroticism!” Stern tosses the warning from the Hayes office onto his desk, “that's what they sent me a warning about Ned! There wasn't even any in the picture.” 

“You know how these modesty police are, dear boy; they see depravity where there is none yet are so out of touch they do not recognize the very things they're afraid of when they are present. Now that you’ve been scolded, how do you wish to proceed?”

“In whatever way won’t get me fired. There's a fine line between the kind of censor uproar that drives publicity and the kind that the studio heads think is too risky.”

“As your producer, I support you entirely in whatever you choose. And I'm happy to apply my considerable eloquence to soothing the concerns of those who sign our paychecks.”

Stern flops down in his desk chair, staring at the almost complete script in a tidy stack. 

“If we’re going to gamble, the more big names I can get the better. I think it’s time to call in my favor from Amnesty Pictures. After that, well; if they’re going to complain about homoeroticism, we may as well give them something to really complain about.” 

\----------------------------

A month later, Stern sits at a large table in the studio meeting room, the bulk of his cast already thumbing through their scripts and chatting quietly to one another. Some of them, such as Aubrey Little and Moira Redfeld, are contract players to Kepler, ones he snatched up for this picture before anyone could interfere. There are also two on loan from Amnesty, a trade off for the time he and Ned worked their Hollywood contacts to help Mama, the studio head, raise money to fund the film that put the studio on the map. 

His own relationship with Mama’s right hand man, Barclay, who acted as their go-between in those early days, may have helped his case. 

The first player on loan is Dani Coulice, who’ll play Aubrey's dear friend and confidant who accompanies her to the house of her mysterious uncle. Dani has an understated charm on screen and, judging by the eyes she’s making at Aubrey, the two women will be able to pull off the romantic subtext he needs them to with ease.

And then there’s Indrid Cold. His first appearance in _The Smiling Man_ drew quick comparisons to Claude Raines, Bella Lugosi and, more importantly, to the great Lon Chaney. Not only does the actor design and apply his own character make-up, he embodies his monsters and murderers in a way that leaves the audience hiding beneath their covers for days. 

Stern knew the moment he and Kirby began working on the script that no one but Indrid Cold could play the titular Dr. Nacht. Now all that's missing from the table is…

“Sorry I’m late Joe. We ran long shootin the sword fight.” A southern drawl and apologetic smile announce the entrance of his other leading man. A man who's trained for years under two mentors to follow in their footsteps as swashbucklers, knights, soldiers. The man who is often described as destined to save the day, regardless of the picture. 

When you wanted a monster, you got Indrid Cold. When you wanted a hero, you hired Duck Newton. 

Which is why Stern remains surprised that Duck took this role so readily. He wants him for it, thinks he’s just the man to balance Indrid's aloof, otherworldly demeanor. But this time, his character won’t emerge triumphant. 

\---------------------------------------

Duck cannot fuck this up. It’s a goddamn miracle Joe offered it to him at all, given that he’s never done horror before, the studio not wanting to waste him on something so strange. There was a time when Duck would have steered clear of it too, but he trusts Joe, and the rest of the cast is strong. And the leading men in these pictures are never the heroes Duck is used to; they’re scientists, good men in over their heads, soldiers carrying the mental wounds of the war. They’re something new. 

The only thing that worries him is Indrid Cold. Amnesty Pictures is known for darker, more daring fare than most studios, and Indrid always seems to be in the mix. His reputation is one of eccentric artistry, something Duck has little patience for. 

It’s been alright so far, the first weeks mainly getting costume tests and memorizing lines, and Indrid is polite but aloof. When Duck mentions this to Dani, she takes her eyes of Aubrey long enough to shrug, “He’s up in his own head a lot, he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Today they’re shooting the arrival of his character, Henry Harper, at the lonely country estate of Dr. Edward Nacht. The doctor is Eliza’s (played by Aubrey) uncle, and she’s traveling to stay with him along with her dearest friend, Lucy (played by Dani). Henry and Eliza are ostensibly betrothed, but the script makes only the barest mention of it, putting Duck opposite Indrid and Aubrey opposite Dani in most scenes. 

Joe’s instructions are to play Harper as a classic, bland, heroic lead for the first third of the film, and he gets himself into that headspace as they take their positions.

“Now remember, Aubrey, you’re the only one who’s even little used to your uncle's mannerisms, so you should be genuinely happy to see him. Right, here we go, action!”

The trio pretends to startle at the massive mansion door shutting on its own, turning in sync to look behind themselves. 

“That’s the trouble with these old houses; they have a mind of their own.”

Indrid stands at the top of the staircase, eyes uncovered for the first time since they met. Head held high, dark suit contrasting with his pale hair and sharp features, he grins at them as he descends the steps. It’s commanding and unnerving, the actor managing to convey something odd lurking beneath his veneer of gentility.

Aubrey runs to greet him, saying her lines as Dani and Duck trail behind her. He only ends up at the right mark thanks to watching Dani from the corner of his eye; the rest of his attention is locked on Indrid. 

“This is my dear friend, Lucy Price.”

“Wonderful to meet you, any friend of my niece is welcome in these halls.” Indrid takes Dani’s and, kissing it with a friendly smile. 

“And this is Mr. Harper, my finance.” 

The smile widens as Indrid offers his hand, Duck taking it as the blocking dictates. There’s a beat where Indrid guides it upwards, as if intending to kiss it. Then he stops, shaking it instead. 

“A pleasure to have you here, Mr. Harper. It seems my niece shares her mother's fine taste in men.”

It takes him a moment to remember he’s not supposed to stand transfixed.

“I look forward to gettin to know you, doctor.”

Indrid steps back, still grinning, “if you three will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

“Cut!”

Christ, that was awful, he should have played that more confident, more in control-

“That was perfect Duck, just the right approach.”

“Oh, uh, thanks Joe.”

“I must admit I am pleasantly surprised.” Indrid adds. 

“How so?” Duck looks up at him.

“Simply that quipping whilst swinging a sword about does not always result in someone who can convey complex emotions on screen.”

“Now wait just a fuckin second-”

“I, ah, I was trying to be complimentary.” Indrid almost sounds like he means it. 

Duck crosses his arms, “Oh yeah? Then I guess I oughta say I’m impressed a fella who runs around covered in monster make-up most of the time can actually emote.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“You started it.”

“I did not mean to start anything!”

“Gentlemen, if we could continue with our shooting” Ned’s voice cuts in and Duck turns to see half the soundstage string to them. 

“Uh, right, sorry. Always get little, uh, tense on the first day. Right, Indrid?”

Indrid raises an unimpressed eyebrow, “Where shall we take it from?”

\----------------------------------------------

It doesn't get better after that first day. 

Duck tries, he really does, and he can tell Indrid is doing the same. But the longer they work together, the more often they snap at one another in between scenes. 

“What were you two arguing about now?” Aubrey says as they walk to the parking lot one evening. 

“We, uh, well he, uh, huh. I can't remember.”

She shakes her head, “Yep, that's what I thought.”

They’re third of the way through the shoot, and it's going on ten at night, Joe trying to get as much done as he can before another picture borrows the set for two days.

Duck and Indrid are the only actors remaining, working on the scene where Henry, having agreed to help the doctor in his work, confronts him over the nature of the experiments. Once they finish this scene, they’re done, but Indrid keeps tripping over the word “indomitable.” 

When he fucks it up for the fourth time, Duck drops his head into his hands, “fuck’s sake, it ain’t that hard.”

“That’s rather rich coming from someone whose accent ought to have rendered him obsolete at the advent of talking pictures.” Indrid replies dryly. 

“Fuck you.” 

Indrid straightens up, ready with a retort, when Joe shouts for them to retake their places and try again. 

“You are meddlin with forces you don’t understand, doctor. Forces that are a mystery for a reason.”

“Do not underestimate me, Mr. Harper. Man is far more powerful, far more capable than scholars or priests would have you believe.” Indrid steps towards him, voice cool and smile detached, “we are no better than beasts if we cower in the shadows of ignorance, never daring to dream of what may be within our reach. Man was meant to question, Mr. Harper, meant to search and create. Man is indomitable.” His grin brightens not only from correctly pronouncing the word, but as part of the scene; because Duck is hesitating, won over for an instant by his speech. 

Duck shakes his head, “Dreams and questions are all well and good, but they all come to nothin if you barrel forward without a thought for the harm you might do. No, doctor, while we're here, I forbid you from such experiments. I won’t have Eliza in such danger, nor will I risk her losing her remaining family.”

Indrid cocks his head, amused, “You forbid it?” 

Duck tilts his head up to meet his eyes, “I do.”

His back slams into the laboratory counter, Indrids hands gripping it on either side of him.

“Perhaps I have been unclear, Henry. I am the master here, not you.” Slender fingers grip Duck’s lapels, tugging him nose to nose with Indrid, “you would do well to remember that.”

“Cut! Perfect, thank the lord, so we can finally get out of here.” Joe’s voice snaps Duck back into the soundstage, but Indrid hasn’t let go, is instead eyeing Duck’s face, tongue coming out to wet his lips. 

How long has Duck been breathing this hard? 

Indrid release his hold, smoothing down the front of Ducks jacket. He frowns, “You’re shaking. Are you ill?”

“N-nope.”

Unconvinced, Indrid touches his forehead, “You feel rather warm. Please tell me you are going home rather than out to paint the town?”

Duck wants to tell him to mind his own damn business. All that comes out is, “Yeah, might just straight sleep through til Sunday. You rest up too, y’hear?”

Indrid smiles, “I will do my best.”

\---------------------------------------

“Catching up on some correspondence?”

Duck sets down his pen as Indrid sits at the lunch table across from him, “My sister moved back out to West Virginia not that long ago, and I promised I’d keep her up to date on everythin goin on out here.”

“Is she younger or older than you?”

“Younger by four years. You, uh, you got any siblin’s?”

“No. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, so I have a cousin instead. Here, I think I might have a picture.” The taller man pulls out a notebook, flipping through it, “ah, there he is.”

“Christ, if I couldn’t see the smudge up there, I’d think that was a fuckin photo.”

“Thank you.” Indrid dips his head, tucking the notebook back into his jacket pocket, “I mostly keep that on me in case I am struck by a new creature design, but it has other uses.”

“Where’s your family from?”

“Germany, originally, then the Salinas valley.”

“Told it’s real beautiful up there.”

“It has its moments, fewer now that they’ve found oil.”

“What’s your favorite?”

Indrid tells him, talks about the nearby mountains and traveling down to the coast, about hitchhiking his way to Los Angeles because he felt foolish asking for the money for a bus ticket when most of the family thought his journey was pointless.

“Sure proved them wrong.” Duck nudges his ankle playfully under the table. 

“I suppose.”

After that conversation, Duck likes his days on set even better. The chair reading “Indrid Cold'' is now next to his more often than not, the two of them running lines or talking about gardens and art between takes. They bring in a black cat--meant to be the doctor’s pet-- for several days of shooting, and Indrid laughs whenever Duck picks it up and coos over it, smile fading to a gentle, shy expression when he catches Duck looking. 

And when Joe instructs them to brush hands, or let their gaze linger too long on each other during scenes, Duck hopes they’ll have to do take after take. 

Today the set is full of excitement, as it’s the first time Indrid will appear in his full monster make-up; he’s shot two scenes in shadows, hinting at the horror of it as he takes innocent life on the moors. Now, Duck will enter the laboratory and see first hand the results of the doctor’s experiments. 

“Action!”

Duck steps into the darkened room, equipment flashing and test-tubes billowing smoke. 

“Doctor, there’s been another death in the village, and you’re the police are asking for your help. They say it’s like nothin they ever seen before.”

Heavy footfalls and the scrape of nails on metal signal Indrid’s approach, but he’s not to turn until the actor speaks. 

“Doctor, can you hear me?” He looks around, worried, then calls hesitantly, “Edward?”

“Hello, Henry.”

He turns and yells in fright, hand flying to cover his mouth. Where there once was an elegant, odd figure, now a massive nightmare looms out of the darkness. Indrid’s mouth stretches wide, curve fangs protruding from either corner, face coated in bloodied, feathered scales, and claws reaching for Duck. 

“Edward what” he staggers backward,s “what in god's name have you done?”

“What I set out to do, my dear Henry. Can you not see that?” Indrid giggles with the hysteria of a man consumed by bitter disappointment, “perhaps you should come closer.”

“Stay back, I’m warnin you-”

Indrid lunges, snarling, and Duck throws himself out of the way, hitting first the edge of something sharp and then the ground

“Fuck!” 

“Cut!”

“Oh dear, are you hurt? Here, let me help-”

Duck holds up a hand, gritting his teeth, “You stay right where you are. Fuck, christ,” the hand gripping his leg comes away spotted with blood, “what the fuck, that wasn’t in the blockin!”

“Joseph said he trusted me to improvise my movements, to maximize the tension.”

“You gotta fuckin warn me about shit like that, all my movement is backwards, meanin I can’t see where I’m goin.”

“I assumed a man who made his living fighting knew how to use his peripheral vision.”

“How bad is it?” Dewey, one of the camera men, helps Duck up as Stern approaches them. 

“Give there’s a bloodstain on our set, enough to send him over to the medical office. I'm calling it for the night . I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Joe runs a hand through his hair, levels them both with a warning look before turning back to dismiss the crew. 

It’s not all that bad once he’s out of the torn pants and gets it cleaned off. When he gets back to the dressing room to retrieve his coat and hat, there’s a large black case, like fisherman's tackle box. It’s what Indrid calls his toolkit, full of the tools and tricks he uses to turn himself into a monster. He once called it his most prized possession. 

Duck switches off the light, has the door halfway shut before he stops. Groaning in frustration at his own decency, he turns and grabs the box from the floor. 

\-------------------------------

“This had better be important” Indrid calls through the apartment door, “I must go back out for something and do not have time to waste.”

“Wouldn’t happen to be goin out for your toolkit?” Duck says dryly. 

The door flies open, revealing Indrid in a black dressing gown, face a bit pink, no doubt from scrubbing off all his monster make-up. 

“Yes.” He snatches the box away by it’s handle, hurrying over to the table and leaving Duck in the doorway, “you didn’t touch anything did you? Or show it to anyone else?” His head whips over his shoulder, red glasses slipping down his nose to reveal a hard, suspicious glare. 

“No, I didn’t touch a damn thing.” Duck steps over the threshold, shutting the door and tossing his hat onto the couch, “and you're welcome.”

Indrid inhales deeply, “I, I apologize. The tricks I developed, my techniques, my materials, practically all of it is in this box. If someone else were to get hold of it, replicate my effects, my career would be over.”

“What are you talkin about?”

The taller man sighs, turning his back and heading into his bedroom, “I do not expect you to understand.”

Duck is ready to tear his hair out, stalks into the bedroom after him, “Fuck’s sake Indrid, do you think you’re the only fella here with the brains to understand shit?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“No, I really don’t. What do you want from me, Indrid? Most days you’re palin’ round with me, then you act like you think I’m some sheltered idiot who’s had everything handed to him.”

“Because you have” Indrids hands could be conducting symphony for how much they move s he continues, “you had mentors, people who told you from a young age that you had a place in this business, who carved out roles for you and handed down their skills, their legacies. I had nothing, I had to make my way based on skill and luck alone.”

“Were the fuck do you get off assumin that sort thing bout me? At lest you got some fuckin say in the way your career went. Minerva had it all planned out for me, hell, at the start I fought hard to do somethin other than those hero parts.”

The anger on Indrid’s face flickers, “Why did you stop?”

“Because I didn’t wanna end up with nothin! As you keep pointin out” he steps towards Indrid, jabbing a finger into his chest, “my kind are a dime a dozen in this town.”

“Which means you can get any part you choose! You are the kind of man everyone loves. God help me if horror ever falls from favor, I will be back in dust of the farmland in an instant.” 

Duck growls at the sorry ploy for sympathy, “Bullshit, you’re better on camera than anyone in this town.”

“That doesn’t matter! For goodness sake, Duck, _look at me_!” He gestures wildly at his face, “without my monsters, without horror, I'm nothing. Amnesty might try to help me, but they’d soon find that unless they can be terrified of me, audiences have no use for Indrid Cold.” Resignation tinges his voice, and it kicks Duck’s anger out from under him. 

“Indrid, that ain’t true-”

“-No, it is very true”

“-will you let me fuckin finish?” Duck reaches for him, not certain what he means to do.

“I have no desire to-” Indrid moves his arm to push Duck’s away, and puts too much force behind it, losing his footing on the hardwood floor and falling backwards onto the bed. In attempting to recover his balance, one leg kicks out, knocking Duck forward. He catches himself with one knee on the mattress and his hands on either side of Indrid, pulling abruptly down on the dressing gown. When it opens, they both go still. 

“You, uh, why ain't you wearin anythin under this?”

“I was not aware I need to follow a dress code in my own blasted house.” Indrid manages through grit teeth, face turned resolutely away from Duck. He follows the angle of his jaw down the line of his neck, the noticeable points of collarbone, ribs, and hips beneath tan, sun-hungry skin making him think of fine china or rare plants, the kind you cultivate for years in hopes of seeing something no one else could ever dream of. 

“Would you kindly stop staring?” Indrid murmurs.

“Why?” Duck drags his gaze away from his body just as Indrid levels him with an exhausted frown.

“Fine, go ahead and get your fill so you can--in excruciating detail--tell anyone who is interested that I look just as strange without clothes as I do in them.”

“Is that really what you think I’m doin?”

“I have a hard time believing there could be...another..” He trails off s Duck leans down, cupping his cheek and bringing his other leg up to straddle him. 

“You sure about that belief?” He bumps their noses together. 

“I'm starting to have my doubts.” 

Duck snickers, carefully bringing their lips together. Indrid hums, wrapping his arms round Duck and running his hands along his back up into his hair. He’s kissed plenty of times, on and off screen, but Indrid is earnest and hesitant all at once, as if Duck is giving him a gift he’s not sure he deserves. He’s also wonderfully responsive, twitching and arching whenever Duck touches him, licking and nipping at his lips, begging to be let inside. Duck opens them, sighs when Indrid teases their tongues together. 

When he sits up, Indrids hands draw across his bare chest, concerned. 

“Don’t worry, darlin , I ain’t goin far.” He slides off the bed, sinking to his knees between Indrid’s legs s he pulls off his jacket, “Just seems to me you need someone to show just how fuckin handsome you are.”

“Are you oh-so-graciously volunteering?” Indrid’s smile is plain in his voice. 

He pushes up his sleeves, “Yep.”

Indrid’s cock is soft when he wraps his fingers around it, stroking up gradually to rub the head with his thumb. Licking along the underside turns Indrid’s so “ohs” into a full-throated moan. 

“That’s more like it, darlin.” Duck kisses up and down the shaft , slipping a hand lower to gently toy with his balls, “get hard for me.”

“Wh-what” Indrid gulps down a breath, “what makes you think you are in charge here?”

In lieu of an answer, he takes the head of is cock into his mouth, sucking hard, not letting up until pre-cum seeps along his tongue. Indrid’s hands cling to the edge of the bed, the room filling with high gasps and the odd squeak when Duck zig-zags his nails along his inner thigh. 

He pulls off, wiping away the string of spit trailing from his lips. Laps intermittently at his slit as he speaks, hoping his voice is coming across husky rather than desperate, “Well, sugar, what do you say? Gonna let me call the shots?”

“I s-say” One hand wavers in the air, about to stroke his hair, and Duck dips to the side, bumping his head into his palm in tacit permission. 

“I say a man on his, his knees giving orders is presumptuous.”

“Ah!Fuck” Duck groans as Indrid tugs his hair, forcing him to sit up straight.

“And I’d say his mouth could be put to an even better use.”

Duck scrambles onto the bed, kissing Indrid furiously as soon as he reaches him, the pale-haired man rolling them over and tangling them both in the top blanket with their feet still hanging off the bed. 

“Did I say you could stop paying attention to my cock? OOhhnnnn, yes, _yes_” he hooks a leg over Ducks thigh, pumping into the shorter man’s fist, “perfect, god, everything about you is, is just right.”

“I ain’t the only one.” Duck aims for his lips, ends up kissing his cheek, when he buries his face into his neck with a whine.

“It’s true. You think I go to my knees for any old fella?”

“Mphhm” Indrid’s glasses dig into his shoulder.

“You think I’d be doin this” he speeds up his hand, “if that face of yours didn’t make me wanna do things in front of those cameras that’d make the devil blush.”

“Mmhpmm” Indrid clings to him like lichen yet refuses to look up. 

Duck stills his hand, “I ain’t startin up again unless you answer me, sugar.”

Indrid raises his head halfway, five o’clock shadow pricking Duck’s cheek.

“Duck Newton, I do believe you are telling the truth. You think I am handsome.” Shyness lurks just beneath the teasing, so Duck tenderly brushes his fingers along Indrid’s face.

“That I do.”

He raises up enough to bring them nose to nose, “And I think you put all other matinee idols to shame with only your smile.”

“Indrid.” It’s his turn to blush, and he only grows redder when Indrid guides his hand off his cock and to his lips to kiss it. 

“I have an idea. As much as these” he releases his hand to snap his suspenders, “flatter that broad chest of yours, they and your pants need to come off.”

As Duck exiles his clothes and shoes to the floor, Indrid lays with his head on a pillow, steadily stroking his cock. Staring at that sight adds a good minute to his undressing, but Duck doesn’t give a damn. 

When he goes to straddle Indrid’s hips, the other man shakes his head, “Nono, up here.” He pats the pillow on either side of his head. 

“Shit yeah, been wanting to fuck that stunnin face for weeks.”

Indrid’s face is beet-colored by the time Duck brackets it with his knees. 

“S-so have eye”

“Aw, sugar, you gettin tongue tiIIIIed_fuck_.” His palms thwack into the wall as Indrid circles it along his folds. 

“What was that about tongues?” His smirk is just visible between Duck’s thighs. 

“That if you don’t keep usin yours like that, you’re gonna see a grown man cry with need.”

“We cannot have that.’

“FUuuuuck, fuck.” He wiggles his hips to help Indrid get the right angle, unsure if he can ask for more pressure.

“You, you can put more weight down if you need.” 

He grinds down, moaning when Indrid’s lips part further to give his tongue more room to work. The moan is echoed below him, muffled though it may be, as one of Indrid’s hands disappears from view. A moment later, he bucks, gasping and laving his tongue along Duck’s dick. 

“Shit, right there, keep goin right there.”

Indrid curves and flicks his tongue along the sensitive skin, hums of pleasure mingling with the messy sound of his hand flying up and down his cock. When he closes his lips around his dick Duck yelps, hunches forward to rest his head on the wall as he sucks him off, pressure spiking deliciously whenever he moans or strokes himself harder. Indrid cums with a whimper, sticky hands landing on Duck’s ass to urge him on as he ruts into his mouth.

“That’s it sugar, fuck, you’re amazin, feels so fuckin good oh fuck, _fuck_, Indrid, fuckin christ.” He rolls his hips harder and faster until the friction makes the orgasm burst through him. He just manages to lift himself off and collapse on the bed rather than Indrid's neck. 

“Did, do you hear a, uh, a crack?”

Red glasses, a split across the right lens, appear in front of him. 

“Aw fuck” he giggles, “didn’t know I was goin that hard. Lemme buy you a new pair?”

“I have several spares, on account of my own occasionally absent mindedness” Indrid is up on his side, grinning down at him, face still shiny with slick, “and I am taking that as a testament to my skill. Perhaps I should wear them with pride to the set tomorrow.”

“Please don’t” Duck laughs harder, “fuck, can you imagine the look on Joe’s face”

Indrid is laughing too now, “They are not part of my costume, it would not affect the shoot. Save the part where the reminder of how you looked just now, flushed and ecstatic above me, would make it rather hard to focus.”

Duck shifts onto his side, nestling up against him, “you’re a real sweet talker, you know that?”

“You have that effect on me.” He feels him inhale more deeply, fingers toying with Duck’s hair, “would, ah, would you like to spend the night? I believe you are not needed tomorrow, and I am only needed in the evening.”

“I’d love to” Duck nudges him onto his back to better cuddle across his chest, “got no interest in sleepin alone any time soon.”

“Do, ah, do you mean you wish to, ah, to-”

“Yeah, I do. I wanna see what it’s like to have the finest man in the city on my arm. Assumin he wants the same thing.”

“You do not think I am snobbish and strange?”

“Not anymore than you think I’m spoiled and had it easy.”

Indrid kisses the top of his head, “Then I think this could be the start of something wonderful.”

\--------------------------------------

Stern looks up from the script as his two leading men walk onto the set, arms linked and whispering to one another, each smiling wider than Laurel Canyon. He turns back to his notes. 

“About fucking time.”


	5. This Bites (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 24th: Midnight. 
> 
> This is a vampire au, so there is blood mentioned, but not graphically.

Technically the ball begins at nine in the evening. Midnight is the highpoint, the turnover from October 30th to the most revered day of the year. 

Indrid and the other residents of Sylvain Manor have spent the day preparing, decorating the halls and ballroom while removing inconvenient items such as mirrors (he’s grown used to not seeing himself in them, but he wishes to offer his guests the courtesy of not giving themselves away).

By nine thirty, the band is playing lively waltzes as couples spin across the floor and friends laugh in small clusters, sipping wine and tasting the various delights Barclay prepared. The cook is nowhere to be seen, but Indrid knows he’s snuck off to his quarters with a certain human, the werewolf unwilling to wait until midnight for his kiss. 

His friend’s starry-eyed love is the only reason he will ever permit a monster hunter anywhere on his grounds. Indrid is not a violent man by any means, but he will do whatever is needed to keep himself and the others in his care safe. 

A downside to this approach is that he is warier of some of the townsfolk than he otherwise would be, and they in turn see little of him and think him aloof. Which is why he’s lurking in the corner at his own party. 

An absurd, charming laugh catches his ear, and when he locates the source he’s certain his long-stopped heart restarts.

The man is dressed in a deep brown suit, cut to accentuate muscular arms and pleasingly strong looking thighs. He must be one of the local farmers, or perhaps a tradesman, as his shoulders and slightly weathered face point to work outside and his bearing lacks the self-satisfaction of a member of the aristocracy. He’s talking with Dani and her human girlfriend, Aubrey, smiling a little crooked when Aubrey tells a joke. Then another dance begins, and the two women excuse themselves to the main floor. 

Indrid waits to see if someone else will approach him, not wanting to interfere if the man is here with a partner or a friend. But the man simply sips his wine and steps back into the corner out of the way of the widening crowd of dancers. Indrid inches along the banquet table, terrified of being presumptuous. Then the man adjusts his tie, no doubt from the heat of the large fire in the fireplace, showing a delicious stripe of neck. 

A quick check of the future indicates his approach will be well-received, and he’s at the man’s side in four quick strides. 

“May I have this waltz?”

“Uh” The stranger looks behind himself, then back at Indrid, “sure. Can’t promise I’ll be much good.”

“I am not known for my grace either, so we will make a fine pair. Shall I lead?”

“Only if you promise not to crash me into anyone.”

“I will do my best.” Indrid places a gloved hand on his hip, enjoys the warmth seeping through when their fingers link.

After two bars of the song, he says over the music, “since an introduction seems only proper, my name is Indrid. What is yours?”

“Duck.”

He grins; hearing that name was just as charming in the moment as it was in his head. 

“It’s a nickname.” Duck steadies him with the hand on his shoulder as Indrid nearly collides them with another couple, “there, uh, there a reason you asked me to dance?”

Indrid cocks his head, “I wanted to. Cliche though it may be, I spotted you from the across the room and wished to know you better.”

“Oh” red blooms across his cheeks and he looks down, which causes them both to elbow an unfortunate passerby, “fuck, sorry. I, uh, well, just didn’t come here tonight thinkin anyone would be that interested in dancin’.”

“Not even the person who invited you?”

“Aubrey’s awful busy, wouldn’t you say?” He nods towards the two women trading kisses as they dance. 

“Ah, of course. Well, I am certainly glad she brought you.” He hopes his smile comes across dazzling rather than predatory, a fine line he trips over more often than he’d like.

Duck meets his eyes, studies him a beat, then grins right back “Seems to me there’s plenty of arm-candy here already.”

“Yes, but I suspect you are far more than a handsome face.”

That laugh again, making Indrid melt like the candles, “Jesus, you get right to it don’t you?”

“Oh, ah, apologies, I did not mean to be too blunt.”

“I don’t mind, darlin. Like I said, just wasn’t expecting itoof, sorry.” Duck sends a chagrined glance at the man whose foot he just stepped on. 

“Would you like to continue talking somewhere less, ah, perilous for us and everyone else?”

“Lead the way.”

Indrid chooses the gardens as their destination, annoyed when more and more clouds cover the moon, obscuring his view of the plants and–more importantly–of Duck.

“Damn, this is impressive stuff out here. Some of this is real tricky to grow.”

“Really? I must admit my own knowledge of gardening is limited to appreciating its results.”

Duck trails his hand up the trunk of what Indrid is mostly-sure is an Oak tree, “Takes all kinds of things to make a healthy garden. Healthy forest too. Too much light, too little water, the wrong place to try and take root, those kinds of things can make it hard for a plant to grow, same as a human.”

“I take it you have an affinity for helping one of those two categories grow.”

“Try to help both when I can. Love takin care of the forest, but Kepler’s my home; I wanna keep it safe, wanna see it grow rather than crumble away.” He moves to another tree, admiring it, and Indrid follows him through the grove, listening as he talks about the plants, about the town, about his work as an arborist. Duck makes him laugh, draws him into an involved conversation about the merits of different orchards and the manners of cats compared to ravens. 

“You been in Kepler long?” They’re shoulder to shoulder now, strolling through the last, stubborn roses of the year. 

“For a time. I wandered around quite a bit before arriving here. I had a run of, ah, of bad luck. Or maybe it was inevitable that I found my way here.”

“Eh, fate and shit ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Bitterness edges around his words, “and some folks give it more credit than it deserves.”

Indrid, futures and timelines churning in his mind, finds this statement perplexing and inspiring in equal measure.

“Fate being what it may, I think we ought to return inside” He points to the mounting clouds, “I’m certain we are about to be rained on.”

Duck sniffs the air, “Smells like it. Wouldn’t mind all that much except this is the only suit I own.”

“Can’t have such a lovely thing getting ruined.” Indrid purrs, taking Duck’s offered arm. 

They make it to the top of the front stairs just as rain patters on the cobblestones, and two younger vampires vacate their seats by the fire the moment they notice Indrid eyeing them. Someone brings them drinks as they talk, Indrid too focused on Duck to notice who it was or what they gave him until he sips and discovers wine, which he does not like. Well, if nothing else, holding it will give him some way to occupy his hand and keep it from creeping up Duck’s thigh. 

With the exception of occasional glances at the clock or around the room, Duck’s attention is on him the entire time. As the hands of time move closer to midnight, the conversation turns to Indrid’s hobbies and his fondness for art. 

“I draw as well, for pleasure and, ah professional reasons.”

“You got any specialties?”

“A few. Would you like to see them?”

“Hell yeah.” 

It’s a short trip up the stairs, Duck keeping their arms linked until they reach the door of his study, having to separate so Indrid can unlock it. As they enter, Duck spots the commission he’s been working on.

“You do portraits?”

“Indeed.” Indrid looks over his shoulder, “are you offering to model for me, Duck?”

“Depends on the kind of modelin.” Duck grins before turning to shut the door.

Picking up his sketchbook, there’s a click of a lock. Goodness, here he thought he’d need to use the rain as an excuse for why Duck would surely need to stay the night in his bed. 

He’s debating the two sketchbooks, prouder of the plant ones but needing to be sure there are no disaster sketches in the mix, when Duck grips his upper arms, spinning them face to face.

“Indrid, look, we ain’t got much time. We gotta get out of here.”

“I…I do not understand.”

“Look, I don’t know who invited you, but this party ain’t what it seems. And, uh, I ain’t exactly either. This is a fuckin vampire ball.”

“And you are a…?” He’s certain Duck is not vampiric, but why would he tell him if he was human-

Oh no. 

“I’m here on a mission, it’s a long story, but I’m a vampire hunter.”

Oh no

Indrid looks at the future, something he ought to have done much sooner, and steps out of striking range. 

“I’m supposed to take down the vamp who runs this place, but I ain’t been able to spot him, which means he might know I’m here. I’m gonna make a break for town, and I want you to come with me. Indrid I, I can’t stand the idea of you bein where Baron Cold can get you.”

“I” he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, “I appreciate your concern Duck. But I promise you I’m in no danger from the baron. After all, I have no intention of harming myself.”

—————————————–

See, this is why he kept telling Minerva he wasn’t cut out for this. Because not only has he been romancing a vampire all night without knowing, he’s been flirting with the guy he’s supposed to kill.

Indrid must have worn a glamour to disguise himself the last time he was seen in town. Duck’s been working from the wrong description this entire time.

“You gotta be fuckin kiddin me.”

“I wish I was.” Indrid’s lips twitch into a frown, “just as I wish you were joking about coming into my home to hurt me.”

“It’s gotta be done.” Duck says more to himself than to the vampire.

“No, it really doesn’t. For goodness sake, two minutes ago you didn’t want me to get hurt!”

“Yeah, because you probably put me under a fuckin thrall or some shit!”

“I did no such thing. Believe me, if you were under my thrall, you would know.” Indrid says flatly, only to hiss when Duck removes a stake from his trick pocket. 

“It, it don’t matter. Because I ain’t under now.”

“Duck, you don’t want to do this.”

He doesn’t dare answer, in case the truth comes out. But before he can move, Indrid slides his glasses down his nose, revealing red eyes. 

“You will not move.”

His muscles lock up, his feet turn to lead, and he gets bitter confirmation that how he felt about Indrid all night came from nowhere but himself. 

“As I said, my thrall is very obvious.” Indrid plucks the stake from his hand, tossing it into the fire. Pats down his sides, roots through his pockets and the tops of his boots, muttering all the while.

“Foolish…distracted…should have known….rude human.” He punctuates the last words by hurling Duck’s sword (disguised as his belt) out the window. 

“Hey, I ain’t the one bitin folks.”

Indrid whirls, snarling, “I have not nonconsensually taken anyone’s blood in years.”

“And you were gonna do what once you got me up here?” Duck manages to cross his arms. 

“Show you my drawings! I thought you wanted to see them.” The vampire has the audacity to look hurt.

“I did.” The truth darts out before he can stop it, and so he covers with more annoyance, “But I don’t buy that was really all?”

“Fine, if you must know, I was going to suggest that you spend the night on account of the weather, and perhaps you would like to do so in my bed.”

Yeah, okay, he was definitely going to bite him. 

“Just” Indrid hugs himself, “just go. I will let the thrall down, and not alert anyone to your presence.”

His body comes under his control once again.

A half-second before Duck moves, Indrid says, “Don’t you dare.”

Duck’s already committed to his attack, figuring he can at least subdue Indrid and get him into town. He doesn’t get the chance. Indrid grabs him and spins him with significant strength, slamming him into the bookcase. He can’t get his right arm free as it’s twisted behind his back, and the left is pinned, splayed out beneath Indrid’s gloved fingers. Apparently all the Chosen strength in the world can’t help him against a pissed-off vampire. 

“That.” Indrid growls in his ear, “was not polite.”

“Would you knock it off with all that manners bullshit and just get it over with?” He mumbles into the hardcovers.

“Get what over with?”

“The thing you brought me up here for.” He turns his head, glaring at the vampire who, for his part, looks confused. Then he grins, bringing his mouth dangerously close to Ducks neck. 

Cold, but very lively, lips connect with his, Indrid humming when Duck tips his head to deepen the kiss. 

The vampire pulls back to nuzzle his cheek, “That was what I hoped for from you. But since you seem rather, ah, fixated on the biting..”

“AH!”

A chuckle vibrates up his neck as Indrid latches onto it, and Duck clenches his teeth, terrified that if he speaks, he’ll ask for more. 

When Indrid releases the skin, the hunter stares at the bruise. 

“There, there ain’t any holes.”

“I told you” Indrid lazily kisses his face, “I only do that with permission.” He gazes at Duck over the rims of his glasses, “is that something you wish to give me?” The hands lift from his wrists, the weight from his back, “or do you wish to depart?”

“I want” he rests his forehead against the books, “I want to, uh, to, know what it’s like. If you, uh, if you want toFUCK, ohgodohfuckAHhnnnn.” His whole body tenses when the fangs sink into the base of his neck, and for a moment he’s worried he’ll pass out in Indrid’s arms. 

Then the steel in his spine melts, pleasure rushing in to replace it, dripping into every vein. His fingers flex and curl helplessly, Indrids hands too busy forcing Ducks chin up and clinging to his waist to hold them. 

He’s never been this turned on in his goddamn life, and wishes he’d learned this about himself any other time but now, with anyone other than a vampire who has three hunters guilds, one assassin network, and two governors hungry for his head. 

Memories bubble up beneath that wish; Indrid in the hours prior, laughing and smiling when Duck told stories or bad jokes. How at ease he felt walking in the gardens with him, as if there was nowhere else he was meant to be. The look on his face when Duck agreed to dance 

He moans, squirming in Indrid’s hold, knowing he’s lost and unable to care that he has. 

The vampire isn’t faring much better, groaning into the bite, the hand on Ducks shirt gripping tighter and tighter. When Duck gasps at a burst of pain the groans and growls turn to a purr, the teeth retracting from his skin and replaced by soft licks and gentle kisses. 

“Is, is it always like that.”

“No. It is neutral to pleasant in most cases.”

“So what the, the fuck was that?”

“At a wild guess, you are discovering some new and interesting things about yourself.” Indrid grins like a fox that’s just been given free reign of a henhouse, “would you like to learn more? Or would you like to go?”

“More, fuck, Indrid please I, I’m-” he’s not certain what he’s trying to say, only that he wants Indrid to understand how badly he wants this. 

Indrid kneels, sets a hand on the small of his back, “Stay.”

The vampire makes quick work of his suspenders and pants, yanking them down to his ankles. Black gloves land near his left toe just as cold fingers caress the back of his thighs. 

“Mmmmmm, has anyone told you these” he squeezes, rubbing his thumb into the inner part of his thighs, “are downright sinful?”

“N-not for awhile.”

“A shame.” Indrid nips the left side of his ass, snickering when he swears. His right hand slips between Duck’s legs, rubbing his dick once before teasing up and down his folds.

“My, my, that is flattering. A handsome hunter, wet just for me.”

“Indrid, I swear, if you don’t stop teasin I’m gonna get my cross from wherever you tossed it.”

“I don’t think you are” Indrid rubs more roughly, neither touching his dick or sliding inside, “I think you are going to stay right here and let me sample this” he slaps Duck’s ass lightly, “for as long as I like.”

Duck giggles, “sample? It ain’t a whiskeyEEh, fuck, oh fuck me.” He thunks his head into his forearm as Indrid scatters bite marks across the sensitive skin. He’s not taking blood with them, seems content to watch the purple and red bruises as they bloom. 

Three fingers push up into him and he yelps, surprised.

“You did ask me to fuck you.” Indrid’s tone is level even as the slick sound of his fingers fucking him fill up the room. 

“It, it was, AHHnnn, a figure of, of speech, you, you fuckin-”

“Choose your words carefully, my sweet.”

“–unfairly good lookin, menace of a vampire.”

He’s spun fast enough to get dizzy, still trapped against the shelves by Indrid’s hands on his hips.

“I’ll show you a menace.” Is all he says before closing his lips around Duck’s dick, fingers still curving and thrusting inside him.

“You, y-you, fuck, and I got real different definitions of menaceOhhhhhh yeah, _fuck_ yes, Indrid, that’s so good,” He cuts off into whimper when Indrid’s head dips down to bite his inner thigh. Threading his fingers into silvery hair gets him another bite and a moan of approval, Indrid continuing to rove his mouth between his dick and his thighs, sounding all the while like he’s enjoying a gourmet meal. 

“Sh-shit, Indrid, I’m close, keep doin that, please_please_” just as the orgasm starts building, Indrid pulls away, sitting on his heels with his hands in his lap.

“Is somethin wrong?”

The vampire stands, hands caressing Duck’s hips, cock hard beneath his dress pants,“There are rules, sweet one. Humans who break into my home to kill me do not get to cum.”

Duck whines, only to have Indrid shush him like he’s a fussing dog before kissing him.

“I, however, do get to cum” He undoes his fly, “using whatever method I see fit.”

There’s a tremendous ripping noise as he grabs Duck’s left thigh, pulling it up to hook precariously around his hip, as Duck’s still-booted foot tears out the cuff of his pants. 

“And you, dearest hunter, are the method I prefer.”

With that, he shoves his cock into him, dropping his head to kiss his neck as a Duck moans without caring who hears him. 

“Goodness, it’s been so long since I had my way with a human, I, I forgot how warm it is.”

“Warm you up whenever you want darlin. Fuck, fuck” He tries to hold his own weight but it’s getting harder, as all he wants to do is go limp and let Indrid take whatever he wants. His head is swimming with the slap of connecting skin and the protests of the bookcase, with Indrid’s moans as the vampire noses his neck. 

“Ah, this will do nicely.”

That same moment of complete tension, his body reacting to the teeth piercing his skin. He tightens around Indrid, weakly bucks his hips in search of release as the vampire switches to furious, sharp thrusts, releasing Duck’s neck with a messy gasp. 

“Nmmm, I hate to stop, but I hate even more for you to grow weak and faint. After all, I need you awake until I am finished.” He presses Ducks thigh up, the angle borderline painful, as his hips stutter. Duck’s nails dig into the wooden shelf as Indrid’s words sink deeper and deeper into his core. He moans at the thought of letting the vampire fuck and feed from him until he passes out, of being helpless in a bed somewhere, his world starting and ending with-

“Indrid” he whimpers as the vampire cums, slamming all the way in and grinding with high gasps as he finishes in him. 

Slowly, his foot finds the ground and Indrid holds him closer, both of them panting. Duck wraps his arms around his waist, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of his jacket. 

“You really ain’t lettin me cum?”

“I believe my rules were quite clear.”

He sighs happily, the denial somehow just as pleasant to his mind as the completion would be. Indrid smiles as he presses a kiss to his temple, laughs softly when Duck gives one to his shoulder in response. He feels so safe here, Indrid draped around him, that reality’s return is akin to a knife in the gut.

“What happens now?”

“Well” Indrid pets Ducks hair, “as of this moment, there are two futures; you depart, are scolded by your fellow hunters and assassins, and return next week with the same goal that brought you here tonight. Or, you prove just as stubborn as you were earlier tonight, and come back to me tomorrow evening, heedless of your mission.”

“Seems to me there’s one of those you’d like me to do.”

Indrid steps back, still holding him but able to more easily meet his eyes, “There is one I would prefer, yes. But ultimately it is not up to me to tell you which path to take. Your destiny is yours to decide, even if you decide something that does not work in my favor.”

This is too heavy a conversation to get into with his pants down. Not when he’s not sure what the right thing for his town, his friends, himself is. Not when Indrid is still so close, smile blood-tinted but so tender Duck wants to tuck it away and keep it safe.

He knows what he wants, just not what he should do.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”

Indrid nods,guides him in for one final kiss, soft and sweet as a sunrise, “That is all I ask.”

—————————————–

He watches Duck from the bedroom window, his figure growing fainter the further he gets down the road.

Then the human turns, pausing long enough for Indrid to realize he sees him. Not knowing what else to do, he waves.

Even from this distance, his night vision lets him catch the flash of that smile. The hunter blows him a kiss, which he pretends to catch.

And the futures of Duck coming back to him tomorrow night jump another twenty percent.


End file.
